


First Snow

by kcstories



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Community: merlinadvent, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brave Knights of Camelot are enjoying the first snow. Prince Arthur is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written in December 2008 for a prompt at Merlinadvent.   
> **Disclaimer:** None of these characters are mine.   
> **Warnings:** AU-ish, fluff, silliness.

Arthur Pendragon walks over to the window, glances down at the boisterous scene in the court yard and lets out a long, weary sigh. "Tell me, Merlin," he then remarks, sneering slightly. "When I say 'Knights of Camelot', what would be the first thing to spring to your mind?" 

"Er..." The young warlock hesitates. "I'm not sure I quite understand what you mean, Sire." 

"Ah." He turns around and sneers again. "Let me put it to you this way, then: in your opinion, does the term 'Brave Knight of Camelot' conjure up images of some hysterical halfwit frolicking about in the snow with a group of similar halfwits bearing the same title?" 

Merlin frowns. "Um, no. Not exactly." Grown curious, he heads to the window himself. The sight below almost makes him snigger. Almost, because Arthur is clearly in one of his moods, and by now, Merlin knows from experience when not to push his luck; Well, most of the time; there are also those occasions where he forgets. 

"The men were supposed to be training this morning," Arthur supplies. "Honing their sword skills. Just imagine if some enemy force were to launch a surprise attack right this instant and see..." He shakes his head, exasperated. 

"Perhaps the enemy would die laughing, Sire?" Merlin offers, ever the optimist. 

Arthur is neither impressed, nor amused. "So you think this is funny, do you?" he snaps, crossing his arms in front of him. 

"No," Merlin replies quickly, but the wide grin won't leave his face, so try though he might, the "of course not" he utters next doesn't sound terribly convincing. 

"I suppose you'd like to be down there with them, wouldn't you?" Arthur continues. "Throwing snowballs at one another like a bunch of juveniles... Reminds you of your childhood, does it?" 

"Er." Merlin rakes a hand through his hair. He can't decide whether that last bit was an insult or simply a question. It's hard to tell with Arthur sometimes. "I," he finally replies, because it's rude not to answer one's prince, even if said prince is acting like a total and utter pillock, "used to have snowball fights too occasionally. Usually with Will. It was a good way to keep warm and well, we didn't have much in the way of toys when we were kids, so..." He offers a small, practically apologetic smile. 

"Hm. I prefer to sit by the hearth and read when it's cold outside and there is nothing of importance to do; or as in this case, there is something to do, but rounding up the other parties is scarcely worth the effort." 

"Right," Merlin says. "So, er, you're going to be doing some reading?" 

"Yes. You're more than welcome to join me, if you'd like." 

Merlin frowns. That wasn't a command, exactly, but it would hardly be polite to refuse. Besides, fun though snowball fights and even walks in the snow—the kind one does for fun, not those that involve dragging armfuls of firewood to the village—can be, the prospect of spending some quiet time with Arthur is far more pleasant. He doesn't need long to make up his mind. 

"Sure." 

"Very well." 

Ten minutes later finds them both sitting by the fireplace. Arthur is reading aloud—some story about a Greek bloke sailing in a big ship while some deities with barely pronounceable names are scheming; none of it makes much sense to Merlin—and Merlin is sitting next to him on the chaise longue, lightly resting his head against his shoulder. 

A casual observer, if there were one, might think they're sitting too close for two people who are just friends, never mind a prince and his servant, and Merlin's sure that hypothetical observer would be right. Merlin also assumes that some day soon, either he or Arthur will have to do something about this. He fervently hopes it won't have to be him. He always stuffs these things up, and Arthur is so much better with words... 

Arthur absent-mindedly ruffles Merlin's hair, and Merlin leans into the touch, ever so discreetly. _This is nice,_ he thinks. He doesn't get to see this side of Arthur often, but at least he does get to see it; he might just be the only one. 

"Merlin? Are you even listening? Honestly, you're the worst audience I've ever had." 

Merlin struggles to bite back a chuckle and fails. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Now pay attention, you Philistine," he says, and resumes his epic tale. 

For the next thirty-something minutes, the wide smile never leaves Merlin's face.


End file.
